Tree.

A strong tree with limbs that I could climb for miles. A trunk I could barely wrap arms around and leaves that scraped the sky. Massive, steady, there, and all mine.

Winter came quickly and I clung to those boughs. They used to cradle me, catch me, kept me from the ground. 

But winter only let’s the strongest weather through her storms. My tree wasn’t one of those. The kind that can hold its form. My tree wilted in the snow. Lost his branches to the freezing cold.

My tree stayed still in the swirling silence; I clung to a dead tree as if my life could repair winter’s violence. 

I see it now. I see that green and gold memory…the one that made up my entire summer. I’ll plant seeds to remind me to choose stronger trees. If I can weather the winter, I don’t need a wilted old tree.

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4 thoughts on “Tree.

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